A Jungle of Stars (1976) (23 page)

"Bad timing," Savage growled. "There are a lot of people waiting to use this simulator, and I have to fight to get on the day's schedule. This character's kind of strange, anyway, isn't be?"

Gayal nodded. "Yes. During the entire trip here he said not ten complete sentences to us. He is a most disagreeable and unsocial person."

"The fellow's a bit kinky," Koldon agreed, "but you have to understand him. He's had no social life for years -- not since becoming the agent on Fraska. He's had to seal himself away from everyone, in sort of like a self-imposed prison sentence. He's not used to dealing with people."

"Fala did so with no problems," Gayal pointed out.

"That's true," Koldon acknowledged. "But Fraska is not Delial, and the social customs and such that Vard needed and suppressed for so long a time are quite different than ours -- and were impossible for him when he was an agent.

Now such a life is still denied him as a refugee."

"You're quite an apologist, aren't you, Koldon?" Savage put in. "War is a leveler, and fighting it is a team job. If Vard doesn't realize this and adjust, we'll have to wash him out. Put him in a little room with communications devices like he had on Fraska and let him rot."

The Terran stalked off angrily toward the computer section, leaving the other two standing there looking at each other.

"He has quite a temper," Gayal commented.

"True," Koldon agreed, "but he's right."

"He is such a strange man. . ."

"I'm afraid I have to agree, knowing a lot more of his history than you do. But, even so, I cannot get down to the part that counts in him -- his blocks are so strong that I can only read what he's actually saying. I suspect there's a complex and fascinating enigma in his brain, but it's beyond reach.

For all the power of personality he has shown and the contradictions he's presented, one would almost think he might be quite a bit more than he appears."

Gayal studied the big bear's features. They betrayed nothing, as usual.

"Why shouldn't he be anything other than what he claims?" she asked.

"You know," Koldon mused, "one of The Hunter's best-trained and one-hundred-percent-blocked agents would be a perfect place for The Bromgrev."

"You don't think he is-- ?" Gayal gasped, horror stricken.

"No, I don't," Koldon replied thoughtfully. "But, likewise, I don't think that he isn't."

Savage stalked to the computer room nearest the training center, blood in his eye. He had just fifteen more minutes and then he would have to clear out for the next simulator group -- and this ass was screwing up the works. He fondly hoped he'd never be in a situation where he would have to depend on Vard. Savage entered the computer room, one of the smaller rooms with access to the master computers, quietly. Surprisingly, no one else was around. Vard sat alone in a center chair, helmet on, figures dancing across the screens in front of him at a dizzying pace. The Fraskan seemed unaware of Savage's existence.

Savage did not speak to him immediately. His curiosity was aroused beyond measure by the various complex figures dancing on the screen, a little too fast for him to read. But there were definitely too many equations, too many diagrams flashing on, however briefly, for Vard to be reviewing training problems.

Savage noiselessly took a seat in the back of the room and put on a helmet, punching the required codes to tie him in with Vard's display.

At first glance they seemed to be tactical problem anyway, but Savage stuck with it for a minute or two. Something was certainly not right. It took him only second longer to realize it -- the red and yellow band flashing along the sides of the picture!

They weren't problems, they were actual exercises. The stripes denoted classified information.

They were Haven military defense contingency plans. Suddenly the display stopped, and was replaced by readout in clear English -- which was particularly surprising, since Vard spoke not a word of it. It read: HELLO SAVAGE * I HAD NOT INTENDED TO BE FOUND OUT SO SOON *

Savage - quickly shot back: SO THE BROMGREV IS AT HAVEN *

WHY IS THAT SO UNUSUAL TO CONTEMPLATE * DID WE NOT TELL YOU THIS *

BUT ARUMAN VARD IS FAR TOO OBVIOUS AND VULNERABLE * Savage objected. I JUST DO NOT BELIEVE IT

Savage removed his helmet and walked to the figure in the front chair.

"And I still don't, Vard," he said aloud.

Vard turned and smiled, then removed the helmet. "I lost a great deal in the abortive attack on this place," he said casually. "And, while here, I can't properly coordinate the actions of my units. These will aid me when contact is again possible in avoiding the inevitable counterattacks."

Savage shook his head negatively. "You're no more The Bromgrev than a cell of my body is me. Just when did you assimilate Vard, anyway?"

"After the escape," The Bromgrev replied casually. "Which, I might add, was extremely difficult to manage. The man was a total incompetent."

"So why stick your neck out now, so early in the game?" Savage asked.

"The element of surprise is no longer of any importance. It was more necessary to have this information and to have it early. This was the easiest and most direct way to it. The classified codes are absurdly easy to crack."

"So now what?" Savage asked the creature. "Hunter will make you as a doppelganger, if I don't turn you in -- so I have to turn you in. What good was all this?"

Vard's face smiled again; it was an unnatural and grotesque expression for the Fraskan. "I cannot control The Hunter in this place, so removed from the realities of the galaxy. It will be necessary to establish more suitable conditions for our, shall we say, double murder?"

"And you expect me to do it?" Savage growled.

"Oh, if not you, then someone. There are lots of possibilities. But there is the girl, you know."

Savage reached over and picked him up, shaking him violently.

"What do you gain by shaking a tenth of my toenail?" Vard managed.

Savage stopped and dropped him to the floor. The creature picked himself up slowly.

"You see? Who really controls the way of the worlds?"

"You're crazy as a loon," Savage snapped.

"Perhaps. Perhaps we all are. That was a wonderful story The Hunter told everyone at orientation a few days ago, about the evil one and the guardian.

Absolutely correct -- but, of course, with the roles reversed. The Hunter was isolated here forever -- but for this cursed bubble that allowed him his escape. Finally, out again among the stars, he proved as mad as ever. He began raising forces to wreck the Next Race -- and any Next Race he found that might be a challenge to his dreams of power."

Savage looked puzzled. "Now, how the hell could he do that?"

"Oh, by making certain the wrong things happened at critical times. The almost perfect birth control of Delial was one. An ancient planet, an extremely intelligent people -- worthy successors! Now they multiply not at all, having maintained a very small stable population and continuing those numbers into the infinite future in a stagnant society. The projection now is that they have no future, only a frozen present. Other cultures -- young cultures -- were given the tachyonic drive to dilute them early. Too early.

The discovery and development of the drive must be carefully managed and timed."

"You introduced it here," Savage pointed out. "Charley's ship."

"Oh, come now," The Bromgrev grumbled, making a gesture of dismissal with his hand. "That was a fluke-- an accident. It was shot down and crashed.

I assure you that they got nothing from it. The whole thing will go up in one big bang when they attempt to get at the drive; and not a shred will remain.

Little by little, over years of time, people and evidence will be altered to fit a coherent but less likely form. I cover my tracks. Had you not eliminated the Kah'diz, I assure you we would have done so."

"Nice talk -- of justice and truth and all that -- from one who is in league with the Kah'diz, who enslave planets and kill millions."

Vard stood up, towering even over the tall Terran although he was less than two-thirds Savage's weight. "I am a pragmatist. I use the tools that are available to me." He spat angrily, then just as suddenly he calmed down.

"There was in your planet's past a dictator," he said, "who took over a country that was a century backward and totally impoverished, yet threatened by powerful neighbors. Inside thirty years, he built a mighty industrial nation that withstood the world. In the process, he killed off almost a third of his people -- often in brutal slave labor. But the survivors and their descendants live a comfortable life undreamed of by their parents. And a safe and secure one. Would you swap misery, famine, disease, hopelessness, for the modern way of life -- if that were your only choice and, if you picked the latter, it meant doing unspeakable evils?"

"That's been the argument of dictators every ete Savage pointed out.

"Somehow it seems to work out differently. Besides, what's the moral imperative of destroying an innocent person like Vard when, with a little more effort, you could have done it otherwise?"

"This same dictator I was speaking of -- well, there's a story, perhaps apocryphal, about how he liked to drive fancy cars down lonely peasant roads at high speeds. Once, while doing so, he struck a small girl. He did not stop.

When asked why, he replied, 'It's only one little girl.'"

"That's disgusting," Savage commented, looking as if he had smelled raw garbage.

"It's your own people," The Bromgrev pointed out. "I merely illustrate.

To survive in the jungle, the ends must justify any means. Besides, it is either me or The Hunter. You -- or someone like you -- will have to choose."

"And if we choose neither?"

"Then someone else will make the decision," The Bromgrev answered matter-of-factly. "There is always a lever on anyone, always someone else if all else fails."

They stood silently for a while, looking at each other. There seemed nothing more to say.

"This has been most interesting and refreshing," The Bromgrev said at last, breaking the silence. "But I have accomplished what I wished to do, and the relief of this very boring existence I've been living since being here has been most welcome. Now I shall terminate this utensil's usefulness."

With that, Vard's body crumpled over, dead.

Savage stood staring at the corpse, then turned and left. But the conversation lingered in his mind as he made his way back to the two students be had left a few minutes before.

It is either me or The Hunter, a voice seemed to whisper.

You. . . will have to chose, it continued.

There is. . always someone else, it insisted.

But there is the girl, you know, it taunted.

There is always a lever on anyone, it reminded.

It's only one little girl.

Wade switched off the transceiver.

"So we know it isn't Savage," Koldon said cheerfully.

"We know nothing of the kind!" Hunter snapped back. "The Bromgrev knew it could be -- and probably was -- bugged, in there. That whole thing was a performance for my benefit, not Savage's. It's a taunt, a sign he's feeling his imprisonment here and an attempt to provoke me into action. Or immobilize me here in Haven. I wish I knew which!"

"A monologue, then?" Koldon mused. "How fascinating! And, if a dialogue, it calls into question one of your best men. Nice touch."

Wade nodded. "It was a challenge, all right. Come out and get suckered, or stay in while he can leave any old time by simply creating new components and sending them outside. No, we'll stick to the script here," Wade decided.

"The final battle will be my choice. One of my agents must find out who in this installation is The Bromgrev. That Vard takeover stuff was bullshit. Vard was Vard when he came into Haven, so The Bromgrev's right here, thumbing his nose at me!"

"So they find out who he is," Koldon responded. "What good would it do?

He knows who you are, after all, and it isn't doing him a fat lot of good."

"That's it!" Wade exclaimed, pounding his fist on the desk. "He wouldn't be here unless he had a plan to do away with me. And yet he hasn't acted, despite all the opportunity. That means he can't act in here with a certainty of success! He wants me out. . ."

"And then what?" Koldon asked. "You've been fighting each other for millennia and it's always a draw."

"Not this time, Koldon, not this time. A small but definitive Armageddon is looming. A decisive one. As to the how-- No, no one knows that until it's time. I don't know who you really are, either. Or anyone else."

"The watcher watching the watcher watching -- this can't go on forever, Hunter."

Wade got up from his chair and put his hand on the bear-creature's shoulder. A strange half-smile was on his face as he said, "It won't, Koldon, it won't. I know what he needs now, and time is on my side."

4

THEY TOOK THE shakedown cruise in a pickup ship, which meant that there was room for passengers. Savage replaced Vard at the gunnery position with little trouble, as he had trained along with them. He would not like to get into a real firefight, he thought, particularly with Koldon as backup; but for shakedowns and normal checkouts it wasn't much of a problem. Gayal, who seemed to be born to the job, was, of course, the pilot.

Jennifer made her way out from the rear compartment aft of the bridge.

She had spent three days memorizing the fixed placements in a similar ship and now knew it very well. Koldon was on gunnery duty, and Savage was sitting in a lounge chair drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book.

"What are you reading?" she asked as she put her arms around him from the back of the chair and heard the book shut.

"Detective novel," he replied. "An old one, as a matter of fact, by the greatest master of locked-room puzzles: John Dickson Carr."

"You'll have to read it to me," she told him. "You used to read to me --

until the training started taking all the time. There's not nearly enough in Braille or talking-book for blind people."